Well, I was going to do another one of my lengthy, indulgent, personal anecdotes about my time at the festival so far to kick off today’s piece, since I’m under embargo for one of the films I saw today until its premiere finishes tomorrow night. However, I did not get back into my lodge until 9:30pm and, despite having been able to get the free time required to write up my thoughts on the first of the films in today’s coverage beforehand, I have only just finished writing the content people actually care about at 11:10pm. I need to be awake at 7:00am if I am to make it into Central London for one of the two The Killing of a Sacred Deer screenings that are on at 9:00am tomorrow morning (the second is for the inevitable overfill that will come from the first one), and I don’t fancy being shut out of that. So, a lengthy intro about trying to overcome my anxiety by talking to strangers at the Festival will have to be booted to another day. Sorry. In my defence, the film I stayed out for tonight was outstanding, but we’ll get to that later on.
God, what did we do to deserve Guillermo del Toro? I mean it, what did we as a collective humanity do to deserve a filmmaker like Guillermo del Toro? del Toro is one of the most technically gifted directors working today, I don’t think anyone can dispute that, but it goes further than that. It’s the way that he marries that technical ability to his absolute passion and earnest love for the worlds, characters, stories, and genres he chooses to tell that makes watching his films so wonderful. It’s there in his early horror classics, Chronos and The Devil’s Backbone, it’s there in his off-kilter approach to comic book movies with Blade II and the perennially-underrated Hellboy movies (the latter of which were my first introductions to the world of comic book movies), and it’s absolutely there in his gothic genre homages Pan’s Labyrinth and Crimson Peak. Hell, even though Pacific Rim was only “good” instead of “great,” you couldn’t blame that on a lack of tangible passion, and the shared glee in watching del Toro cash in every last scrap of industry cred he’d accrued up to that point to make the progressive, multi-cultural ode to the pleasures of the Anime and giant monster movies that he is infatuated with!
I have clinical anxiety, crippling amounts of it. When most people or works of art think of people with anxiety, it’s typically in the sense of the awkward guy at the party who can’t talk to girls, or other people but mostly specifically girls, without stammering incessantly and maybe vomiting up some ridiculous and invasive fact out of panic. And whilst I do have major problems starting conversations with people I don’t know, my anxiety – for clinical anxiety is paradoxically a universal yet hyper-personal mental illness, much like depression, so it’s not the same for everyone – goes further than that, manifesting in almost every decision I make, however big or small. Coming to the Festival last year was a major source of anxiety for me. Like, sure, it went fine and I relaxed (as much as I can relax anyway) and had a great time, but in the lead up to it I was panicking over every single thing. Was I doing this thing right, would they accept my application, do I deserve to be here at all being such an unknowledgeable fraud as I am, and so on?
Since arriving in London on Tuesday, I have had my one of the lenses in my glasses banged slightly out of place at a Wolf Alice gig, had my throat feel like it was doused in acid thanks to being sent with some accidentally well-past-use toothpaste, gained a painful yet hard-to-find ulcer on the inside of my lips, been incapable of getting an uninterrupted night’s sleep for whatever reason, and (as of yesterday) stricken down with a cold that I have no doubt inadvertently infected many other fine members of the Press Corp with by now. Yet, I strive on to bring you coverage, because I care like that. All joking aside, I’m not telling you this to try and garner “woe is me” pity sympathy, but rather because it inadvertently puts me in the right mood to watch a new Michael Haneke movie. For Michael Haneke, as anyone who has made even the most cursory glance at his filmography will be able to tell you, makes bummers. Often confrontational bummers about really horrible self-absorbed people, but always with something to say, even if it requires a fair bit of work on the part of the viewer to figure that out.
Life, as they say, comes at you fast. Just yesterday, in the opening pre-amble to the content you actually care about, I was whining of how it had been 3 days since the Festival started and I had yet to be blown away by any of the films I’d seen. I’d really enjoyed quite a few – this was not to take away from Equilibrium, The Light of the Moon, or Golden Exits – but I’d yet to fall in love with anything, and that was just unacceptable, dammit! By this time last year, I had loved The Handmaiden, and Elle, and My Life as a Courgette, and so on and so forth, so how dare all the excellent films be hiding themselves from me, or (based on comments I’d heard from online friends currently at other festivals) failing to do a better job at convincing me to not make bad decisions that I knew I wasn’t going to love anyway! And then, today, presumably to force me to quit my moaning, the Festival unleashed The Breadwinner (A) upon me, as if the everything so far was all about building my anticipation and appreciation levels up fully enough so that, when an excellent film came along, I’d recognise its excellency instantly.
When I first had a glance through the festival programme this year once it was announced in mid-September – I may just be applying rose-tinted spectacles to last year since it was my first time, but I swear everything was better-organised last year in advance of the fest (the staff have all been super kind and helpful as the festival has gotten underway though) – I felt like it lacked a lot of the obvious “wow” that 2016’s line-up had in abundance. It wasn’t like last year when I saw names like Arrival, and Free Fire, and La La Land, and The Handmaiden, and so many others littering the programme from top to bottom. That’s not to say that there aren’t big names at this go-around, I’ll be jostling to get coverage for many of them later on in the fortnight, just that there were less big-ticket names that excited me by their mere mention.
If I lived in London, and were capable of working in a cinema without having an existential crisis or eventually hating movies, I would want to work at the Picturehouse Central. I was first introduced to it this time last year, and immediately went on about just how taken I was by the venue in that day’s article, but it bears repeating, since I fell in love all over again yesterday when I turned up for the day’s screenings. Multiplexes are all largely-samey corporatized efficiency-machines, designed to put the film in front of your eyes in as impersonal and cost-effective way as is humanly-possible, whilst the (very) few independent-ish cinemas in my nearby (50-mile radius) area try their best to replicate that multiplex feel because they don’t have the budget available to do anything else.
Only a week and a half late this time, it’s our Kingsman: The Golden Circle podcast! Entering into the fool’s golden circle that is the Failed Critics Podcast this week is Steve Norman, Owen Hughes, Tony Black and Brian Plank.
As London Film Festival kicks off for another year, we sent Callum Petch to collect his press pass, find the wi-fi password and report back to Failed Critics HQ right away on opening gala screening of Andy Serkis’ debut, Breathe.
Welcome to the absolute best podcast we’ve ever recorded…. ooooh chinny reckon. Chinny. Reck. Kon. Oooh Jimmy Hill chinny reckon. Chinnnnny.
Ok, ok. No, it’s probably not the best podcast we’ve ever recorded, but it was still a lot of fun as hosts Steve Norman and Owen Hughes chat Korean revenge thrills in The Villainess with Paul Field, as well as trying to work out whether Darren Aronofsky’s mother! was pretentious tosh, or if that is even a bad thing at all.
Just a short podcast for you all this week as Owen Hughes and Character Unlock‘s Andrew Brooker float the idea of a very short It Spoiler Alert review special rather than take a week off. This is your second and final warning: do NOT listen to this episode unless you have seen the weekend’s release of Stephen King’s killer clown movie.
Hosts Owen Hughes and Paul Rutland wrap up series four of Front Row with their 30th ever episode – and possibly their last ever? As ever, this is a bitesize edition of their show on Bucks 101 Radio.
Leaping out of a moving aircraft with a Union Jack adorning their parachutes, before safely landing in the driver’s seat of their sub-aquatic Aston Martin, it’s your podcast hosts Steve Norman and Owen Hughes. Spinning around on his high-backed leather chair with a pussy in his lap, it’s our special guest Paul Field, joining Owen and Steve for a special spy triple bill episode!
Following on from Owen’s recent recommendation on the Failed Critics Podcast for the Vestron re-release of Brian Yuzna’s 90’s cult classic zombie film, Return of the Living Dead 3, this article takes a look at the undying love found only in this weird but wonderful genre.
Spooktacular! Fangtastic! Unbelieva…ghoul…? Yes, it’s our Horror Channel FrightFest 2017 special episode of the Failed Critics Podcast.
Hosts Steve Norman-Bates and VoodoOwen Hughes drag Andrew ‘PVCface’ Brooker and Mike ShawcrossedTheWrongGuy straight from FrightFest and onto Skype for a podcast devoted entirely to the UK’s largest genre film festival.
Amongst the general chit-chat about the five-day event over the bank holiday weekend, we chat about over 15 different films, including: Leatherface; Cult of Chucky; 68 Kill; Better Watch Out; Tragedy Girls; The Bar; Mayhem; Double Date; Psychopaths; Freehold; Fanged Up; Jackals; Bloodshed; Mob; and not forgetting the Adam Wingard’s Netflix Original Death Note.
We’ll be back next week with a spy thrillers triple bill, but in the meantime, check out some of Mike’s photos from the festival below.